


Your Own Worst Enemy

by goth_on_ham



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goth_on_ham/pseuds/goth_on_ham
Summary: Professor Strange is trying to help Oswald get better, but the former gangster is his own worst enemy.





	Your Own Worst Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request for a science/medical smut prompt meme. However, it turned out not to really be that smutty, so I am posting it separate to the other requests I filled around this time.

It took time to train Oswald. He was difficult. Stubborn.

He was also intelligent, and suspicious, and Strange found that his usual platitudes didn't seem to work on him.

All these things made him a more challenging patient, but also a more rewarding one to work on.

Eventually, he began to comply to the treatments. At first, it was probably because he thought playing along would make it easier on him. However, it wasn't long after that when Oswald's mind truly became his to mold.

He was surprised when Oswald started to show a little bit of defiance again a few weeks later. He truly hadn't expected it.

“Medication is an important part of your healing process, Oswald. I am disappointed that you don't see that.” His voice was level and calm, but it carried a deliberate chiding tone that made Oswald's actions seem like those of a disobedient child.

“I do, Professor Strange. I do, I just…” His voice trailed off timidly.

Strange waited patiently for him to continue. 

“They make me feel funny. I have blackouts. Nightmares. I don't think they're helping me.”

“I understand that those side effects are unpleasant, but they have curbed your violent impulses. You are markedly more placid now than when you first arrived. Is that not true?”

“I suppose, but-”

“Don't tell me that you find your own discomfort more distressing than the thought of hurting dozens more innocent people.”

“That's not-”

“Because if that were the case, we have a great deal more work to do before you are anywhere near cured.”

Oswald’s eyes were bright with tears, and although he tried to blink them away, they remained, threatening to spill out over his cheeks.

\--

Thick straps, made of brown leather, were tightly secured around Oswald's wrists, his ankles, and his torso. Then came electrodes that were attached to his temples and his chest. They were less uncomfortable, but just as worrying. He lay flat on a surface that resembled an operating table and the metal chilled the bare skin of his back.

He hadn't been in this room before, or on a table like this before, and the fear of what might be planned for him made his head spin. He felt like he might be sick.

Bright lights stung his eyes, and he squinted, but one of the orderlies who had strapped him down told him to look straight into them and quit flinching. 

He closed his eyes anyway, and something jabbed into his side, sharp and metal and Oswald screamed, eyes shooting open again.

He thought he had been stabbed.

Suddenly, once he had looked into the lights, he felt as though his mind was being ripped from his body, and thrown somewhere else. Somewhere he couldn't quite reach it but he could feel it being stretched and compressed and battered about. 

He couldn't think what else to do, so he cried out, for help and for it to stop, but it only got worse.

Voices came first, then images, then smells. He heard himself, then he saw himself, facing himself, stabbing himself, and he smelled the blood. He looked into his eyes as he felt the knife twist, and the other version of him was pitiless. He sneered cruelly as he sank to his knees. And it hurt, it hurt more than any mere hallucination could possibly hurt.

When he put his hands to the seeping wound, the blood felt warm.

There wasn't much more pain then, only blackness. Then nothing at all.

\--

“Please, no! I can't do this anymore! I can't!”

The orderlies ignored him and continued fastening him down onto the table. 

“Please! Please, I’ll take my pills again! I swear I will!”

They didn't seem to hear him. One of them told him to look into the lights, and Oswald continued begging, until another seized him by the hair and forced him to look.

\--

The torture continued for another week. Every day, Oswald was brought to the same room, strapped down, and murdered by himself. Every time it was different, but every time it felt real.

By the seventh day, he would have done anything to make it stop.

Strange visited him in his room, and Oswald pleaded with him that he wanted to take the medication he had been on before, because while those had side effects that were hard to bear, they were far better than being tied down each day, and killed by yourself.

“Oh, Oswald. You haven't learned a thing have you?”

Oswald was afraid.

“You’re still only thinking about yourself. You’re still being selfish.” Strange sighed at him, his expression piteous. “And I thought this therapy might teach you some empathy for all those you hurt. It seems I was wrong.”

Oswald was trembling. 

“From now on, we will schedule you in for two sessions a day.”

Oswald couldn't breathe.

“Starting immediately.”

Oswald fainted.

\--

“I think you're starting to learn about empathy now, don’t you?”

Oswald nodded obediently, his eyes lowered in quiet submission. 

It had been another week, and Oswald just wanted it to stop. His throat was raw from all the screaming he’d been doing, and dark circles surrounded his bloodshot eyes. 

“That's a good boy.”

“May I start taking my medication again now, Professor Strange?” He asked quietly, afraid that asking would somehow offend the doctor, and he would end up being dragged off for yet more therapy.

“Yes, I think so.” 

Oswald could have laughed. He could have cheered. The medication had seemed hellish two weeks previous, but at that moment it felt like such a mercy. However, Strange had a caveat.

“So long as you can convince me you have truly learned to take other people's feelings into account. Otherwise, I am afraid it is back to therapy for more-”

“No!”

Strange raised an eyebrow, “Oswald, it is very rude to interrupt someone.”

“I’m sorry, I only… I can't… Please believe me when I say that I have changed!” He was frantic, fearful, and desperate not to go undergo a single other therapy session like he had endured over the past two weeks. However, Strange appeared unmoved by his pleas. 

Panicked, Oswald sank to his knees.

“Please!”

He looked up at Strange, hoping to see pity but expecting to see nothing, but he did see something. It wasn't the sympathy Oswald had hoped for, but it was something he could latch onto.

He shuffled closer to Strange, still on his knees, and placed his hands on the other man's legs for support. Strange didn't move away.

“Please, give me a chance to show you how sorry I am.”

He could have sworn he heard his breath catch in his throat. “Very well.”

\--

Oswald grunted softly as he threaded his fingers through his hair,gently at first, then gripping tightly. He shushed him, and Oswald, because he was playing at being good, quietened.

Oswald’s mouth moved up and down his cock, becoming faster, but remaining noticeably inexpert.

“Are you really doing this for me, or are you simply determined to get your medication again?” He asked, surprised how difficult it was to get the words out and make them sound remotely dignified. “The latter would be very manipulative of you…”

Oswald didn't answer, but continued sucking him off, and a little more than a minute later, Strange came with a low moan of pleasure.

He reached into his waistcoat took out two circular white tablets from a brown bottle. He saw Oswald's eyes widen almost immediately, and Strange couldn't help but smile at how apparent he really was. 

“Take them.” He held out his hand and Oswald began to reach for them, but Strange stopped him with a tut. “With your tongue.”

Oswald paused, then slowly he moved his hands back, and leaned down so that his mouth was close to the other man's palm. With a single delicate movement of the organ, he licked up the medication. 

He swallowed, and Strange smiled cordially. 

“Something to help you with your sleeplessness. You have another busy day tomorrow and you’ll need the rest.” Oswald’s face seemed to immediately drain of colour when he realised they were not his pills and he made a move to grab at Strange, but the sleeping aides had already made him sluggish. Strange simply stepped away from him and zipped up his pants. “Good night, Oswald.”


End file.
